


Paroxysm

by anonymousgratification



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Denial, Developing Relationship, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 07:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18027641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousgratification/pseuds/anonymousgratification
Summary: Something more.





	Paroxysm

**Author's Note:**

> A series of moments throughout the years, as things start to change.
> 
> I did not even mean to write this, but all these ideas appeared at once and I ended up with almost 7k words, haha. I'm still somewhat unsatisfied with it, but whatever.  
> This pairing... man, it's under my skin or something. There's so much subtext and in between the lines, and I can't help myself from wanting to delve inside the cracks.  
> My characterization might be a little clumsy, but I feel like the story (DRRR) is overdramatized and I'm a bit inclined to realism in my writing.  
> Thanks for reading.  
> xo  
> 

“You already stopped bleeding,” his eyes glance over the side of his knife, then back at the slash on Shizuo’s arm. “You really aren’t human.”

“And you are?” Izaya furrows his eyebrows, his eyes wild.

Shizuo attempts to grab him, eager to throttle him, but Izaya dodges, a foul look on his face. He moves swiftly, pushing his blade up against Shizuo’s neck. 

“If I cut off your head, would another one grow?”

Shizuo reaches up and grabs his chin, curling fingers around his throat. 

“You’re the cockroach. You’d walk around without your head for hours without realizing it.”

“Ha,” Izaya laughs, finding that he’s actually amused at Shizuo’s comment. “I’m surprised you even know that.”

“I’m not an idiot,” he defends. 

“Now that’s just going too far. You can’t comprehend anything except violence. Like a beast. Kill, kill, kill! That’s all the only thing in your head.”

Shizuo shoves Izaya’s away from him, and his knife slides across the roof. He watches it move away, then glares up at Shizuo, jumping back.

“How will I defend myself against the beast now?” He looks up at the sky, sneering. “God, if you’re there, save me!” Shizuo leaps at him, and Izaya escapes, trying to flee to the door of the roof. Shizuo gets close enough, yanking him back. He pushes Izaya into the ground, his head thudding on the pavement.

Izaya tries to say something, but Shizuo pushes this head farther, muffling the words into the surface.

Izaya’s shirt rides up as he struggles, and Shizuo grunts, Izaya somehow getting on his side. He tries to kick him, but Shizuo catches his ankle and holds it there. 

“What now? Going to hold me down and ravish me?” Izaya doesn’t shut up, regardless of the position he’s in. “Isn’t this unfair? The power balance is uneven.”

“Your manipulation doesn’t work on me.” Izaya scoffs; he knows that already and it's infuriating. Shizuo cannot be controlled— an anomaly in his sculpted world.

Izaya tries to hit him, but Shizuo's body is solid above him— like a fucking brick wall. Shizuo shoves his head down by his neck, and Izaya wrestles for leverage, deciding to wrap his own hand around Shizuo’s throat. Shizuo’s shocked at his tactic, his eyes expanding.

“That’s not going to do anything.” He ignores his attempt.

“Yeah,” he agrees, breathless. “But isn’t this _fun_?” He smiles at him, and Shizuo tightens his grip, scowling down at him. He doesn’t understand Izaya, not even a little. How is this _fun_?

Izaya bends his fingers, the cold metal of his ring the only thing Shizuo feels. Izaya desperately moves his hand, his mind whirling, searching for an advantage—Shizuo’s hand keeps tightening, and his eyes are starting to blur. He shifts his hand higher, pulling the ends of Shizuo’s hair, tugging his head back as far he can. Shizuo barely moves, but he gets annoyed, veering from the touch. Izaya crawls away, trying to get to his feet. Just a little farther then he can turn around and—

Shizuo’s hands are on him again, and he pushes him back to the ground, leaning over him once more.

“Scary!” he shouts, mocking him. Shizuo grabs at him again, holding him by his throat into the ground— but there isn’t ground all the sudden, and Izaya’s head hangs over the side of the building.

“Stop fucking moving,” he growls, Izaya still struggling under his touch. Izaya realizes where he is, the weightlessness under him, and he laughs— _laughs_ , tilting his head to look at the ground.

“Do it,” he dares him, his eyes doughty. 

Shizuo holds him there, looking under him to the ground below. Izaya really would die— no doubt about it.

“I will,” he threatens, but he isn’t sure he really wants to. The ground is so far— too far.

They stare at each other—challenging— each of them waiting for the other one to make a move. 

“What would they think?” Izaya’s eyes flicker to the side. “Their beloved classmate throwing another student off the roof.” Shizuo squeezes harder, either holding him or warning him. 

Izaya sees his falter; the uncertainty in his face. He derides, his voice gaudy. “Shizuo-kun threw someone off the roof! His insides are everywhere—”

Shizuo covers his mouth with his hand, shutting him up. It gives Izaya a chance to escape, and he rolls over, jumping up and rushing to pick his switchblade off the ground, lifting it in front of him.

Shizuo takes a second to stand up. That was close. He really almost—

He stares at Izaya, and Izaya stares back. Shizuo clenches his fists, and they’re both brimming with adrenaline, their eyes fixed on each other.

Izaya presses his knife shut and pockets it, squinting dubiously at him and strolling to the door. Shizuo sits back down, bringing a hand to his face.

_ Fuck. _

 

♦

 

Izaya goes straight to the bathroom when he arrives home, lifting his hand to his face, looking at the bruising there. _Fucking monster_. He feels a strange sense of numbness, staring at himself in the mirror. 

He shouldn't have let Shizuo get a hit on him. Maybe he’s just tired.

He gazes over the features of his face, wondering how he feels about the person in front of him. He’s almost certain; almost wants to admit it to himself that he hates the person directly ahead— but, what does it mean if he hates himself?

He doesn’t hate anyone; or maybe that’s some sick persuasion, replacing his loathing with a twisted affection; telling himself that he doesn’t feel isolated but instead pleased, the way he pulls varying reactions out of people.

He’s not a monster like Shizuo. But, maybe he’s not quite a human, either. He feels it doesn’t describe him; like he doesn’t exactly fit in the word.

He reaches in his pocket, pulling out his knife and flipping it open, staring at the tip of the blade. 

He mind is whirling, and he doesn’t understand it.

He stares at himself, deciding he doesn’t want to look anymore. Perhaps he really does despise the person in front of him.

He stabs the side of the wall by the mirror, imbedding his knife.

No. He doesn’t hate himself. If he hated himself that means he’s no better than an animal; no better than Shizuo. 

Izaya turns away, shutting off the light and walking to his room. He crawls on the bed and sprawls over the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

His heart feels broken in his body; not from heartache or emotion, but like it forgot it was supposed to be pumping blood, leaving him with a cold weight that makes him feel vacant. 

He feels the prickling sensation of tears in his eyes, but they never come, and his throat feels raw, like maybe it’s bleeding inside. He’s immobilized; both in his feelings and the movement of his body.

It’s almost like he never learned how to have emotions; like everyone else knows and he’s always perplexed and misinformed.

He sighs, hating the thoughts and sensations wafting over him. 

He wants control. He wants to rid himself of this part; this specific detail of his being. He wants something _more_.

Maybe it would be better, if Izaya was just a mindless beast; a savage who knows nothing but violence and brutality.

He swallows the thought— pushes it out—the only way he knows how to handle it.

He’s better this way. At least he knows; knows the gnawing of his heart and stomach when the thoughts won’t stop. A brainless monster would never understand the depth of human emotion.

Izaya’s a human. He loves himself; as he loves them all. Though it feels like a lie, drifting through his head, but he shuts his eyes, forcing himself not to think about it. 

At least he’s not a monster.

 

♦

 

Shizuo walks down the hall, finally leaving. He had to stay after class to talk to the head of the school— in trouble over something Izaya wrongly blamed him for. Izaya’s a fucking snake. _A goddamn bastard._

He hears a sound in a classroom, and can’t help himself being curious. No one should be here.

He hears a sound again, and looks through the door, slightly ajar.

A teacher— fuck he can’t remember the name right now— pushing someone against the wall, trapping them there. He hears his voice, distinct—vexing.

“Sensei, do you think I could get some extra help?” _Izaya._

Izaya puts his arms around his neck and spots Shizuo in the doorway. He vacillates for a second, then gets this devious, venomous look in his eyes. He smirks at him, and the teacher leans in— _what the hell?_

Shizuo removes himself, not wanting to get involved with whatever _that_ is.

 

The next week a teacher gets fired, and Shizuo recognizes him as the one Izaya was making out with. 

He hears people talking around him, and learns he was arrested for exchanging _favors_ for grades. Someone anonymously sent in proof of his misdoing along with his unsavory internet history. 

Shizuo furrows his eyebrows, knowing exactly who is responsible.

Izaya saunters by him that very moment, walking directly toward him. He meets his eyes and stops, gripping his collar to pull him closer. Shizuo’s so stunned at his valiance he doesn’t even react.

“Shizu-chan can keep a secret, right?” Izaya whispers right next to his ear, sounding like a hiss.

He lets go and leans away; as if he was never even there.

 

♦

 

Shizuo goes to run an errand for his mom, and he spots Izaya walking; his stupid wrong uniform making him easily distinguishable. 

Izaya pivots at a series of buildings, and Shizuo almost walks right into him.

“Why are you here?” Why can’t he get away from him?

“I _live_ here, what do you mean?”

“No way do you live here.”

“What, you think I have nothing better to do than follow you?”

“I don’t know. You’re fucking sick and obsessed with me. You never leave me alone.”

Izaya keeps walking, unlocking the door and opening it. “See? Why would I have the key?”

“Maybe you stole it,” he shrugs. Izaya walks inside, turning back and glaring at him.

“Well, I proved myself! Fuck off.”

Izaya tries slam the door, but Shizuo shoves it back.

“I know where you live now, Izaya-kun.”

“So what?”

“So, I’ll kill you.”

Izaya attempts to shove him, but Shizuo propels him back.

The door slams shut, and he’s on the opposite side of it, and Izaya tries to fight him, but he fights harder. 

He pushes him into the wall, and a picture falls down, and Izaya looks excited about it; thrill organizing the contours of his face.

They end up in his room, and Izaya’s against the wall, by the window. Their mouths are so close— and he’s thinking depraved thoughts like what would happen if they were a little closer.

Shizuo’s body is adjacent to his, and he shifts closer and closer, until they’re not fighting anymore but breathing; staring at each other as their bodies move in a different type of aggression. 

The sound of the mattress shifting, and Izaya’s body is over him, and his tongue isn’t sharp like his words, but like silk around his.

Izaya makes a pained sound, and pulls away to breathe. He licks back into his mouth, tasting his teeth. Izaya grinds his hips, and Shizuo wrestles with him, their lips hostile.

Izaya’s hand slithers down the bed, lower and lower until it’s cupping his groin— and he’s not hard, he isn’t— but Izaya’s hand feels _good_.

He changes their positions, wanting more but he doesn’t know what. It feels like anger but more urgent; like he’s chasing Izaya and Izaya’s chasing back, wanting it just as much, if not more.

Shizuo doesn’t know why he’s so feverish; why this riles him up like their hatred is some morbid sort of foreplay.

He touches Izaya too— slides his hand up his shirt and can feel his bones and muscles under his fingers; hates the way he feels smooth. He clumsily reaches for the button of his pants, gets it undone and his fingers push into—

The door opens, and someone is there, a little girl, it sounds like. Izaya’s vanished, and Shizuo looks up, in a trance as Izaya leans in front of two kids— one who’s babbling and unsettled. 

It feels too intimate and he doesn’t want to look. Izaya looks normal like this— almost humane— almost compassionate, talking to these kids who barged into his room. Shizuo stares at him, the way his hair is a little messy, the way he looks vaguely vulnerable, trying to comfort a child.

Izaya leads them out of the room and looks back at him, and Shizuo leaves as fast as he can, assimilating from the fire in Izaya’s eyes.

He feels like he’s seen something he shouldn’t.

 

♦

 

Shizuo finds Izaya weeks later, sitting against the wall of the building behind the school. He’s reading, resting the book on one of his knees.

Shizuo walks up and sits right next to him. Izaya doesn’t say anything, disregarding him, his eyes darting down the page.

“Izaya.”

“I’m busy.”

“Why did you…” He drifts off, not sure how to word it. “You hate me. Why did you let that happen?” Izaya slams his book shut with one hand and holds it there, glaring over at him.

“You hate me, too. Don’t pretend you weren’t reciprocating.”

“You shouldn’t of done that.”

“Me? It’s not like I forced you.”

Shizuo’s surprised by the answer— like he’s convinced himself that Izaya did force him, somehow.

“I didn’t want to.”

“But you did,” Izaya stands up to leave.

“You did,” Shizuo stands up and grabs him, holding him there.

“Is there anything in that head of yours? I was going home. You charged at me and I defended myself. Just because it ended with—”

“Shut up. Don’t say it.”

“Say what? We kissed? You touched me and you _liked_ it?”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But you’re the same, aren’t you?”

“I’m nothing like you. You disgust me.”

Izaya's eyes travel to the hand holding him there, his thoughts transfixed in his gaze— _so what’s this then?_

“That shouldn’t of happened,” he continues, maybe convincing himself. 

“Do you have some pent up feelings for me? Is that why you’re so irritated?”

“I’m irritated because I hate you.”

“Do you always react this way when someone kisses you? Though, I am curious about a monsters foreplay—”  He cuts him off. 

“You’re not someone.”

“You’re right. I’m better. You should be grateful I even let you near me.”

“I’m—” he closes his mouth, frustrated. He doesn’t know what he was hoping for from Izaya— maybe an explanation. Maybe he thought Izaya would somehow be able to put it into words, but Izaya’s infuriating and truculent as ever.

“Done I hope,” Izaya finishes for him. “How about the monsters stay away from the humans from now on?”

Shizuo clenches his jaw. _Calm down. He’s not worth it._

“Bye!” He waves, a derisive smirk on his face.

_Don’t chase after him._

His feet progress before his brain, and he’s trails after him; fury on the tip of his tongue and in the way his body moves.

_He hates Izaya_. 

 

♦

 

They graduate high school, and he doesn’t see Izaya for a few months. They stumble upon each other one evening in the street, and he can’t extinguish the lingering abhorrence making his blood boil when he see’s his face.

He chases Izaya, and he’s cunning as ever—fluctuating and eluding his attacks. Izaya dodges whatever he throws at him, and he gets Izaya weaponless.

They don’t stop then, and it’s all fists and vehemence; ferocity and ire. 

They fall out of fluency, panting. Izaya stares up at him, his hand cradling his side. Shizuo stares back, his eyes going to the blood, smearing down his nose and across his face.

Their hands are on each other as soon as their eyes are.

He doesn’t know if he leans in, or Izaya does, or if it’s some combination of the two; but his lips are on his in an instance, and it’s as vicious as their fighting. He runs his tongue along his mouth, and Izaya nudges his lips impatiently. Izaya’s tongue is iron and mint and it’s intoxicating; like their mouths are magnets and he can’t break the link.

They lose their momentum again, and Izaya’s eyes are glinting; red as the blood on his face. They glare at each other, and Izaya seems way too intense, like if Shizuo reached out again he’d get sliced from the asperity of his silhouette. There’s also something blank and empty in his gaze, something obscure; and before Shizuo can react, Izaya’s gone, fading behind the wall as he stumbles away. 

He digs into his pockets, shoving a cigarette between his lips and lighting it, thinking it will nullify the trace of his lips. He inhales and exhales, smoke filling the space around him.

He can’t get the taste out of his mouth. 

 

♦

 

It’s late and dark, and Shizuo doesn’t know why he’s still out as the city lights shine above him. He doesn’t notice Izaya until he’s close, feet away and not paying attention. Izaya looks a little weird, and he’s walking a bit off balance, but he pays no mind, traveling in his direction.

Izaya notices him too late and scurries away. Shizuo shouts his name, and Izaya runs, not inciting and provoking him, instead focusing on fleeing. 

Shizuo corners him, and Izaya tries to swerve away from him, but it’s uncoordinated, and Shizuo grabs him, startled by how easy it is. 

“Shizu—” He drifts off, slumping into Shizuo’s body, and the cling of his knife hitting the pavement sounds unduly loud.

Shizuo wants to push him off. Izaya is hardly conscious, and he hates himself for it, but he doesn’t want to leave him on the street.

He takes him back to apartment and throws him onto his couch. He looks down and feels wet and sticky, suddenly realizing Izaya’s bleeding. 

He stares down at him, contemplating. He could kill him, right now. He _should_ kill him, right now, when he’s weak and heedless. He reaches his hand down— maybe to choke him. Shizuo goes rigid; noticing there is already marks on his throat, fingertips tattooed on the skin of his neck. He lifts his hand and groans, his fingers moving to his hair. 

“Fuck. Why?” He groans, pulling out his phone and calling Shinra. He hates this— hates this so fucking much.

Why can’t he kill him? Maybe he’s just not a coward; the opposite of Izaya. He doesn’t want it— not like this. 

But maybe, he doesn’t really want it at all, and that freaks him out even more. 

There’s a knock on his door.  “Izaya?” It’s first thing out of Shinra’s mouth, making sure he heard right on the phone. “What happened?”

He doesn’t have an answer. Shizuo shrugs as he walks past him, leaning in front of Izaya. “Did you do this?”

“No,” Shizuo says, not knowing why he’s irked by the question. “I barely touched him and he collapsed on me.” 

“Hmm.”

He opens his bag and puts on gloves, his fingers running down the side of Izaya’s shirt— the stain from his blood.

Shinra sighs, lifting Izaya’s shirt, finding the source of his bleeding. There’s a deep gash up the side by his ribs, and bruising up his abdomen. “Jeez, Izaya. What the hell do you get yourself into?”

Shizuo looks away, feeling like it’s private; like he’s somehow imposing in his own apartment. 

Shinra places pressure on the wound, covering it with gauze.  He stitches him up and finishes the sutures.

The snip of scissors fills the room, and Shinra queries. “Why did you bring him here?”

Shizuo looks up. He doesn’t know the answer to that question. He doesn’t know why, either. He wonders if Shinra would’ve just left him there. He’s certain if it was opposite, Izaya would not have tried to help.

“I couldn’t just leave him there,” he argues, but really, he could’ve. Maybe he should’ve. 

“He deserves it.” Shizuo knows that, too. 

Shinra sterilizes the laceration, maneuvering his body as he wraps the wound. 

He slides his gloves off, putting his tools away and closing his bag. “He lost a lot of blood.” Shinra walks past him, throwing his gloves into the trash and swiftly turning. “Don’t do anything.”

“You’re leaving him _here_?” 

“Of course. He shouldn’t move and can’t walk. He’s already here, anyway.”

“I don’t want him in my apartment.”

“Neither do I,” he reasons. “Don’t do anything, ok? I hate him too, but he’s injured.”

“Why not? What if he wakes up and starts freaking out?”

“Just make him leave when he gains consciousness. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be here, either.” Shinra looks down at him, then back at Shizuo. 

“This is so annoying. I should’ve just let him bleed out.”

Shinra gives him a look, keenness under his glasses. “If you wanted to kill him, you would’ve done it already." He opens the door, leaving Shizuo with that statement floating around his head.

Shizuo doesn’t get any sleep except nodding off a few times. He doesn’t like Izaya being here.

 

Izaya wakes up in the morning, sitting up and grabbing his head, wincing. He looks around and has no idea where he is. He feels the bandaging through his shirt; feels exposed and uneasy. Where the hell is he?

He stands and grunts, heeling over. _Shit_. He reaches into his pocket, grabbing his phone and looking at the time. He repockets it, glancing around the room.

No way. _Shizuo?_ He gapes at him, his eyes flitting around the apartment and back to him, to confirm he’s actually there. Shizuo’s smoking on the balcony, his back turned.

_Why the fuck is he here?_

Izaya reaches in his pocket and sneaks behind him, the door still open. He positions his knife under his shoulder blade, pushing into his shirt.

“I could pierce through your heart.” Shizuo’s eyes widen, putting out his cigarette. _Of course_ Izaya would have more than one knife on him. Shizuo leans away and turns around, pushing Izaya backwards. Izaya’s slow; slower than he’s ever been, and it’s effortless moving him, yet he doesn’t relent, pushing his knife against Shizuo’s chest again, directly above his heart this time. Shizuo grips Izaya’s wrist as hard as he can, holding his arm there.

“I could’ve let you die,” he meets his eyes, finding something indistinguishable there.

“And why didn’t you?” he snarls. Shizuo doesn’t answer, only glares at him.  “Why am I here?” Izaya speaks again, irritated. 

“Sleeping beauty doesn’t remember?” he jeers. “You fucking passed out on me. I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Who fixed me up? Don’t tell me Shizu-chan knows how to do stitches?”

“Shinra,” Shizuo ignores his ridiculing, too tired to deal with this. Izaya untenses, hardly noticeable, but Shizuo knows him—even though he hates that fact— and sees his shoulders shift.

“You should’ve just let me die,” Izaya argues. Shizuo didn’t expect him to be appreciative, but Izaya is advancing full force in the opposite direction. 

“What, you wanna die or something?” Izaya stares at him, not saying anything. He frees himself from Shizuo's grip, taking a step back.

“Stay away from me,” Izaya sneers, spinning around and staggering out his apartment. 

Shizuo feels like he’s in some ridiculous alternate reality where Izaya’s the one who wants Shizuo to leave him alone. Like he’s somehow traveled into a fucked up world where he wants to help Izaya instead of kill him. He walks back inside, shutting the door, going right to his room. He collapses on the bed, thinking that maybe this is just one big, weird dream. He shuts his eyes. 

Maybe he’ll wake up from this in a couple hours.

 

♦

 

Shizuo’s not sure how he got here— like he suddenly became sentient; his body driving into Izaya’s.

He growls, gripping his hips, wanting to break the bones under his hands.

Izaya arches his back, crossing his arms and laying his head in them. Fuck— he hates him so much, the way his smell is crowding the air— the way he feels so warm and tight.

Izaya laughs, and Shizuo wishes he would just _shut up_. Izaya turns his head, his eyes gazing up at him from the side.

“Can’t you fuck me better?” Izaya complains, an infuriating look painting his face. “You disappoint me,” he goads him on. “Come on, Shiz—”

Shizuo grabs his hair and yanks his head back. “Don’t you ever shut up?” He thrusts into him harder, shoving Izaya’s head into the couch and holding him there. “You’re so fucking annoying.” 

Izaya opens his mouth, maybe to protest, but all that comes out is a noise that shouldn't be so titillating. 

He pushes Izaya’s head further into the cushion. _Shut the hell up._

He releases his head, grabbing his hips and forcing his body back to him. Izaya clenches his fist on the side of the couch, holding onto it.

Izaya shudders and pushes back toward him. “Fuck, f-fuck,” he moans into the cushion, drooling over the material.

_Bastard_ — provoking him when he’s about to finish. Shizuo carelessly shoves him closer, harder. He feels it when Izaya cums, and the sound of him whining and choking for it should turn him off— should make him revolted— but Izaya squeezes and throbs around him, and Shizuo finishes, too, moaning as he reaches his climax, buried inside.

He pulls out and Izaya sags into the couch. Shizuo tugs his pants up and zips them, glancing at Izaya as he rolls on his side, glowering at him then closing his eyes. His face is flushed and his skin is dewy, and his mouth is parted, but he's quiet for the first time since Shizuo's known him. He might not of believed this really happened if he didn’t see his face— and now that he does he hastily leaves, feeling a weird sort of shame. 

 

♦

 

The next time he sees him he kicks open the door of his apartment, and Izaya’s on the phone, speaking in words he doesn’t understand. Izaya notices him and keeps his eyes planted on him, finishing his conversation with a bitter look in his eyes.

Shizuo stands there, not waiting for him, just baffled.

Izaya moves his phone away from his ear and hangs up, placing it on the desk next to him.

“What now?”

“You know—”

“I haven’t done anything,” he walks over to him, leaning away when Shizuo tries to grab him. “Are you looking for excuses to come and see me? Isn’t this depressing…” 

“If it were up to me, I’d never see you again.”

“You say, yet, here you are.” 

“You piss me off.”

“You piss _me_ off,” he repeats back to him. “ _You’re_ the one who kicked the door open. Unappreciated, by the way.”

“Who cares about the door? I wish you’d die.”

Izaya gets a weird look in his eyes, and it seems familiar but slightly distorted.

He walks up to him and plants himself inches in front of him. Shizuo feels entranced, unable to look away as Izaya lifts a hand to his hair, his ring disappearing and reappearing, his hand slowly moving down the slope of his neck. He stares up at him, a nefarious expression on his face.

“Go ahead,” he says, and he sounds _earnest_.

Shizuo doesn’t move, and Izaya lowers his hand, looking offended. “What are you waiting for?”

Shizuo opens his mouth— nothing comes out. This is what he wants; he’s certain, but it feels wrong this way, feels wrong now— and he stands there, frozen.

Izaya starts laughing, chuckling quietly at first, then it’s hysterical and manic, and Shizuo’s stupefied. 

Izaya holds himself, laughing like this is the funniest fucking joke he’s ever heard. 

“What the hell?” Shizuo shouts at him, and Izaya shuts up, furiously. 

“I see what this is.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Izaya leans up, shaping his arms around Shizuo’s shoulders, and Shizuo grips the back of his shirt to pull him off, but Izaya’s talking again.

“I see,” he giggles. “You’re looking for an answer. Feeling all weird inside thinking of me; your child brain unable to decipher it,” he blathers on. “It’s sort of cute. You’re so frustrated and confused. Was I really that good?” he leers, one of his hands slipping down his body. “You’re not going to tell me you love me now, are you?” 

Izaya removes himself before Shizuo can, fluidly moving across the room. 

“You wish.” 

Izaya lays himself over the couch, gazing back at him, and Shizuo follows, stomping over and standing above him.

“You want to fuck, right? That’s why you came all the way here, under the facade of anger? You know you can just tell me you’re horny, Shizu-chan.”

“I don’t want to have sex with you.” _Never again._

“What is it, then?”

Shizuo doesn’t answer, searching for it himself. Izaya unravels it first, responding to his lack of answer.

“Be quick about it,” Izaya persists, peering at him. “I have plans.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you.” Izaya grins at that— he knows that better than anyone. He wonders if Shizuo’s such an idiot that he only figured it out now, or if it’s just the first time he thought to say it.

“No good?” He leans in front of him, placing a hand on his thigh, the other reaching in between his legs. “I can suck you off,” he offers. Shizuo grabs his hands and pushes him away, taking a step back. 

“Why would I want that?”

“Why are you here?” Izaya bites back instantly. 

Shizuo doesn’t know— he was sure Izaya had to be up to something, and didn’t know why he was so frustrated; unable to get him off his mind. “I couldn’t relax, knowing you’re alive somewhere.”

Izaya gets this look in his eyes— like he doesn’t buy it, and Shizuo thinks he’s right not to. It sounds cheap, weak; even from him.

“Whatever. I don’t care, just get on with it. I don’t have all day to work through your issues.”

“I don’t—”

“Tell me why you came here, then,” he impels. “Why did you come all the way here when nothing happened?”

“Something happened.” 

“What happened? _Why are you here_?”

Shizuo stands there, staring at him, then turns away. He feels like Izaya’s won and hates that sensation. He turns back and glances at Izaya’s prying eyes, waiting for his response. 

“Figured you were up to something.”

“Wrong,” his face looks bland; bored, almost. His voice sounds certain. “Why don’t you be honest with yourself?”

“Ha,” he laughs, not at all amused. “You’ve never been honest in your life. You wouldn’t even know.”

“I _know_ ,” Izaya says. “It’s obvious when you lie. You’re not smart enough to put up a charade.”

Shizuo hates Izaya— the way his words are fitting into place in his head, like the answers to a riddle he hasn't been able to solve. 

“I hate you,” he snarls. “Next time I see you, I really will kill you.”

Izaya descends onto the couch, and leaves Shizuo with something that will run through his mind for weeks.

“Boring. That’s what you always say.”

 

♦

 

Apparently he can’t avoid it, and every time they meet their fighting turns to fucking.

Tonight Shinra and Celty had a cermony— something to convey their devotion to one another.

He promised not to be violent; to play nice with Izaya for the evening. It must’ve worked too well— because now they’re in the back of a cab, and Shizuo doesn’t know where the driver fucked off to— but he can’t think of that now, too distracted by Izaya bouncing on his lap.

His suit jacket is falling off his shoulders, settled right above his elbows, and his slacks are floating around somewhere. His tie is loosened, and the buttons of his shirt are unkempt where Shizuo was impatient and couldn’t get them undone fast enough. Izaya moves urgently, biting his lower lip, his eyes rolling back.

It gets a little weirder each time; Izaya touches him more desperate, and Shizuo’s fingers linger too long. It’s confusing— and Izaya’s words from all those months ago are still in his mind. _You’re not going to say you love me, are you?_

Shizuo asks himself inside his head, as he looks at Izaya. _Do I love him?_ No, that’s wrong. _Do I like him?_ No, that’s not quite right, either. _Do I hate him less than I thought?_ That’s it; and the answer is as annoying in his head as it is in the way his lips move. _Yes._

He fastens their mouths together, and Izaya’s moves slower and deeper, rolling his hips. 

Izaya clutches the seat behind Shizuo, and Shizuo bites his neck as he cums— Izaya trembling at the pulsating inside him. 

Izaya makes a noise— and fuck his noises are what keeps him in place; like his body is melting and Izaya gathers him up. Izaya’s as loud when they have sex as when he maunders; and it should be aggravating, but the sound makes Shizuo run his hands up to his waist, sucking on the side of his neck. Izaya makes a sweet, subdued sound, mumbling.

“Amazing.” He twists away, and his face looks roughly embarrassed, and maybe it’s all the champagne he drank, but Shizuo hates—appreciates— revels in the way he gets to see these secret sides of him. 

“You look sexy like this,” Izaya yields to his dazed thoughts, spilling them. He pushes Shizuo’s hair back, resting his fingers around his nape. 

Shizuo touches Izaya’s collar, his fingers playing with the material. “You look…” He really _looks_ , and is unable to define it. He flips them over, shoving Izaya’s body over the length of the seats. He moans and pulls out, rubbing his cock over Izaya’s. “Want to go again?”

Izaya whines and presses up against him, acceding. 

 

♦

 

Shizuo collapses next to him. Izaya rolls on his side, and Shizuo closes his eyes, catching his breath. 

He turns on his side, staring at the ridges of Izaya’s back in front of him; the shadows canvasing his body from the moon; gleaming in through the window. 

He gets the strange urge to feel it; the jutting of the bones underneath his skin. His fingers come into view, running down Izaya’s vertebrae. 

He can’t hear anything; the lull of time drifting by with his fingers, tracing back up along his shoulder blades, down the length of his arm. 

He’s immersed in the feeling, and Izaya’s motionless, nothing moving but his fingertips on his skin— too soft for someone so jagged.

Izaya’s voice cuts through the juncture and his fingers slow, circling his over his spine.

“Shizuo.”

He hums, stuck in place as the world blurs into nothing; nothing real but his hand on Izaya’s back. 

“Get out,” Izaya commands, and Shizuo is forced back into place, shoving himself off the bed as soon as the words leave Izaya’s mouth and hang in the air around them. 

He dresses on autopilot, thinking he needs to hurry and get out of here— get away as soon as possible. 

Izaya hears the door shut and clenches his teeth, exhaling the breath he was holding. 

_What the hell was that?_

He flips over, straightening his arm, feeling the sheets that are still warm; diluted with the smell of Shizuo’s body. He traces the outline, the indent of his body in the sheets.

Izaya closes his eyes, ignoring how his skin is tingling; burning where Shizuo’s fingers traced his body. 

He doesn’t sleep. 

 

♦

 

“What do you want from me?”

“What are you going on about?”

“We’re not just fucking,” he says. “Not anymore.”

Izaya laughs, that same depraved one he’s been hearing for years and can’t get out of his head. “What exactly do you think this is, then?”

Shizuo hates that this is the person he’s so intricately involved with. Izaya's so difficult and evading. Shizuo wonders how much in life he’s avoided; how often he’s destroyed what he doesn’t want to deal with.

Decoding Izaya’s heart is challenging; it’s metal and razor blades covering the inside; the inner part that’s made of glass. Izaya tries so hard to bury it, because past his barriers and resistance there is something unmistakably delicate and fragile.

He shoves his hands through Izaya’s hair, and it’s not angry but it’s aggressive; passionate and hopeless. He doesn’t answer Izaya’s question, instead asking another one. 

“What do you see me as?”

“Searching for gratification?” Izaya jeers, but Shizuo ignores him.

“I still hate you. But there’s something else.” _There always has been._

“You’re just mixing up feelings with arousal. Naturally _you_  wouldn’t be able to recognize the difference—”

“Shut up. I mean it. I…”

“Confessing? That’s embarrassing, even for you.”

“Can you stop? I don’t care about any of that.”

“You should. You’re still a monster,” Izaya declares; yet he hasn’t called him that in months. “Don’t claim to understand the thoughts and feelings of humans.”

Shizuo lets go of his head, thinking if they keep touching he’ll accidentally punch Izaya. 

“I’m only ever a monster when you feel defenseless.”

Izaya’s face transforms— it’s enraged and desperate and obstinate. 

“You’re always a monster. You just convinced yourself I think different because you want me to,” Izaya voice is rough— perilously laced with loathing. It’s undecided if it’s self imposed or aimed toward Shizuo, but it’s scorching through them, creating a place in between that burns when either of them try to move closer.

“Izaya,” he cautions.

“Hm. Maybe I was wrong. How disillusioning,” he exasperates, narrowing his eyes. “I thought you were some grand aberration, but maybe you’re nothing but a pathetic man, falling for the first person that wet your dick.”

“You weren’t the—” He groans. “You’re a bastard. A fucking shitty bastard and you’ve always been.” _And yet._ “Why would I be here if this didn’t mean anything?”

Izaya doesn’t respond; Shizuo’s rendered him speechless for a change. Shizuo slams the door as he leaves, irritated.

 

He finds Izaya days later, walking from his apartment, as if he was waiting for him and gave up. Neither of them speak when they spot each other, and Shizuo lets him in.

He takes in the sight of Izaya in his living room. He looks restless. Izaya doesn’t speak but leans in, resting his head on his shoulder.

Izaya doesn’t touch him; they're not in contact anywhere but Izaya's head against his body. Shizuo doesn’t touch him either, and Izaya lingers over him; the action revealing all the things he’ll never be able to say.

Izaya straightens himself and runs his fingers over Shizuo's face, trying to map it out. His eyes are glimmering and it’s altered; the movement of his fingers and the look on his face.

“I’m not going to say it,” Izaya penetrates through the silence with his voice; low and fierce.

“Yeah.” 

Shizuo stares at him— thinking Izaya constantly has this look in his eyes— like knows something everyone else doesn’t.

Shizuo considers that the secrets swimming in his irises are nothing but loneliness and desolation; no secret but that he is merely a person, too.

Just like him. 

 

♦

 

It’s different this time, but he can’t quite grasp what it is. It’s slow, the way his hands move, and Izaya’s fingers are submerged in his hair, silently encouraging. 

When he fucks him it’s not rushed or wrathful the way it usually is, but sedated and hazy; like they are trapped in this moment, stuck clutching and possessing each other.

Izaya’s on his back, underneath him, and he doesn’t know if they’ve ever done it this way; their eyes anchored on each other, wanting to see as they come apart simultaneously. 

He fights it, or maybe not that hard, but he thinks Izaya looks enchanting. He’s captivating the way his eyes flutter shut and his lips move as noises fill the air; his hair veiling over the pillow, his body twitching as he pushes against him. 

Shizuo cradles his waist and runs his fingers down to his hips, shoving him closer.

“Shizuo,” he gasps, twirling his fingers in his hair. “Don’t hold back.”

Shizuo doesn’t; grinding into him deeper and desperate, but not the way it normally is; not hopeless to get off and leave, but hopeless to come undone in tandem. 

“You can’t hurt me,” Izaya says, and it almost sounds like a promise.

For the first time, Shizuo thinks he doesn’t want to. 


End file.
